


Coal Black, Water Blue

by dandelionsandroses



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionsandroses/pseuds/dandelionsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You must be the Everdeen girls," says Beetee, "I work for Lord Abernathy, you'll be living with him over the duration of your stay." When Katniss is sent away to the English countryside in 1940, she never imagined she would end up staying with Lord Abernathy...or falling for his nephew Peeta. Historical AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All characters, names, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content. Originally written for Prompts in Panem, but I ended up forgetting about a paper and so I'll have to publish the later chapters here!**

* * *

My hand clings tighter to Prim's the closer we get to our destination. I have never been to the countryside before, but even I could read maps and by my calculations we were only one stop away from Panemshire, the destination that I could read on my now sleeping sister's tag.

It is not relief, but rather creeping fear that pervades my thoughts as the train moves along. Granted, my back is stiff and I wouldn't mind getting away from the increasingly boisterous children that filled this compartment, but even this was better than the uncertainty that awaited us at our destination. Who knew what type of family would take us in, and what was I to do if they were cruel to Prim or abused our rations?

But I guess even the worst of abuse was better than being pulled into thin air by a German bomb. Or at least, that is what my mother had told me when she was packing our meager belongings into bags early that morning.

* * *

The stop at Panemshire is a little red covered platform surrounded by bright open land, a contrast to the dark confined station we had left from. Everything about this place seems more crisp, even the air is more pleasant than that of London.

I hold my grip on my sister even as the conductor helps her off the train. It's only when I spot that familiar tall shape and ruffled brown hair that I release.

"Gale," I shout, springing across the platform and pushing towards him. He wraps his arms around me, his large figure enclosing over mine.

"Catnip," he says, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Gale's not that far away from making the draft, and he had run off once before to try to join the army. But for now he is still a child, and with three younger siblings he made the cut to go to London. I think the officials mostly wanted to make sure he didn't try to join the war again.

I grin, releasing myself from his body and reaching down to pick up his little sister Posy. "What's the chance," I say, "that we both end up at Panemshire?"

We're not the only kids at this stop, there are at least a dozen others around here, some of whom I recognize and others that I do not. I had seen Gale early that morning, we had even shared the bus to the train station, but I hadn't seen the location on his tag. Even so, I am more than thankful to have a familiar face with me in this strange place.

"Forget chances," Gale says, "let's just be thankful we have each other."

It's the Hawthornes that get picked up first. The woman that comes for them is delightfully plump and wears overalls with a faded blue shirt. "Rooba," she introduces herself as, "my husband and I are butchers."

After the Hawthornes have left, Prim makes it her duty to introduce herself to every child at the stop. Aside from strangers like a merchant girl nicknamed 'Glimmer' and a Jewish girl named Johanna, there are kids from home like Leevy, who is in my grade at school.

One by one every kid seems to be matched up with a family until Prim and I are the only ones left at the station. I have it in me to go to the train office and ask, but eventually a car drives up and an odd little man, who looks more like a professor than a handyman in a heavy tweed suit with a burgundy bow-tie, emerges.

"I'm Beetee," the man says, not giving explanation for the strange name, "You must be the Everdeen girls. I work for Lord Abernathy, you'll be living with him over the duration of your stay."

Prim lights up at this, "We'll be staying with a  _Lord_?"

Beetee smiles at her, "Yes dear, you will be staying at Panemshire Castle with the Abernathy family. Now come on, let me help you with you bags."

As Beetee helps the two of us into the automobile, I run through the thoughts in my head. A titled family is taking us in. That's better than expected, we wouldn't miss meals at the very least. Although I knew it wouldn't be the princess storybook Prim must be imagining, there could certainly be worse arrangements.

* * *

The noisy automobile chugs through the countryside at a faster pace than I would have expected, and it isn't long before Beetee announces that we are pulling into the estate.

Prim gasps when she sees the size of the place, "Oh Katniss," she says, "it's like a fairytale."

She's right, it is pretty, at least four stories tall and adorned with all sorts of carvings and towers. In some ways, the place reminds me of the Tower of London, although less imposing and surrounded by wide open land.

"Come on girls," Beetee says as he helps Prim out of the carriage and walks us up to the mahogany front door. I'm slightly surprised that he brings us to the front instead of through the servants passageways, but I dismiss the gesture as he turns us over to a stern looking servant in a long black dress.

"Well," our caretaker says, "I will be heading out to my workshop now. Don't worry, she will bring the two of you up and get a good meal in your system."

My stomach practically growls at the thought. I hadn't had any more than bread and milk all day, and the prospects of a hot meal delights me.

"I have been instructed to bring the two of you into the drawing room to wait for dinner," the maid says, pushing the door open a little wider and letting the two of us in.

Even I gasp when I see it. The home is magnificent, somewhat outdated in terms of furnishings and door, but truly beautiful. The entrance-way must be at least fifty feet tall with marble columns and openings on what must be the second floor. It looks like one of those old Italian cathedrals that I've seen in my history books, and the sheer extravagance of it all is astounding. I had never expected this of a home in the countryside.

"Come on girls," the woman says, seemingly annoyed by our reactions, "don't dawdle."

Pulling Prim along with me, I follow her through a maze of heavily decorated hallways and rooms until we reach a solid white door on what must be the far end of the castle.

"Wait here," says the stiff lipped maid, opening the heavy wooden door and allowing us in.

The first thing I notice, aside from the fine green silk walls and cozy furnishings, is the boy pacing by the hearth. He looks to be about my age with bright blue eyes and styled blonde hair. And he has that look about him, the one that made you feel like you had met him before, a smile that probably melted the hearts of most girls.

His cheeks widen as he takes notice of us, "I'm Peeta," the boy says, "Peeta Mellark. You must be the girls from London?"

I nod at him, "I'm Katniss, this is Prim. I don't suppose you are Lord Abernathy?"

The boy's presence confuses me. Dressed in gray slacks with a solid gray overcoat and a green scarf, he is certainly not a servant, and his clothes are far too clean to have traveled today.

He laughs at my snark, "Oh heavens no, although I will be one day. I'm Lord Abernathy's nephew."

My face contorts at that. Really, I had never figured the boy was noble, much less the future Lord. "I'm sorry," I say, "I didn't know."

He shakes his head dismissively, motioning for the two of us to sit, "It is a pleasure to have some company out here. I'm from London too, came out here a few months ago when things started getting tense," he turns to my sister, "So, Prim, what grade are you in?"

And that's when it clicks,  _I know this boy._

* * *

**Author's Note: Let me know if you liked it! As always, you can find me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. All original work is mine, please do not copy or infringe any original work.  
**

* * *

"Well," says the Lord as he shoves the key into the tower attic's door, "you can look in the back trunks for things you like. The clothes are hardly stylish, but they'll keep your backs covered and they can always be sewn up. Now don't mess with anything else, ya hear me?"

The Lord, Haymitch as he had instructed us to call him, insisted on bringing us up to the attic after he was informed of our arrival. "Can't have kids running around the countryside unclothed," he said to us before uncapping another bottle of liquor.

Lord Abernathy is not at all what I expected a lord to be like. Middle aged and mostly drunk, he's hardly refined or elegant. How on earth he is related to Peeta, who is full of delicate wit and even puts the servants girls at ease, I don't know. Although I suppose I hardly resemble my own mother in character.

"Got it," I say, a little exhausted after journeying up two flights of stairs with Peeta and Prim.

Haymitch shrugs, shuffling back down the staircase, a bottle of scotch in hand. His nephew rolls his eyes a little, pushing open the door.

I groan a little as I see what's behind the creaky barricade. "Another staircase," I roll my eyes a little, "who ever thought to store things up here?"

It seems the farther we get up the tower the steeper and plainer the stairs seem to be. This one is painted white all around with no handrails and that old musty scent that seems to pervade so much of Panemshire.

"Here, Prim," Peeta says, taking my sister's hand and pushing her up a few of the stairs, "you go up first so you don't fall."

My sister accepts his help, allowing Peeta to lift her up and push her onto the little trunk covered platform. Once Prim is firmly planted on level ground he turns back gown again and looks at me expectantly.

I shake my head, "I think I've got it," I say, rejecting his help. But I give him a little smile, a gesture to show him that  _I remember,_  even if he doesn't.

The climb is a little steep, and I almost regret turning town Peeta's overly gentlemanly offer, but in the end I make it up to the top only half covered in dust. It's silly to think that my fears have so quickly gone from bombs and starvation to the perils of castle staircases.

As I stand on the platform I take in my surroundings. A turn just past the staircase reveals a sizeable room that must take up the entirety of the tower's utmost point. There are boxes scattered throughout. From heavy steam-trunks to papered hat boxes, this place has it all. There are old clothes all around, elegant dresses from around the time of the first war and odd coats and baubles, but nothing suitable to wear today.

Peeta grabs a pink silk thing from one of the hangars and holds it up to his body, "So, Katniss, what do you think? Is it my color?"

Prim giggles and I throw a random towel at him, blushing, "Shut up and work, Peeta."

He rolls his tongue around his teeth and wriggles his nose, causing my sister to laugh once more.

I roll my eyes. "Peeta, come on. Help me with these latches," I point towards the trunks in the back, sliding across the dusty floor.

He gives me a little grin, shooting my sister another look before moving over the far end of the room and popping open the latch to the first trunk.

"Here Prim," I say, "come look at this with me."

Prim obliges, taking a seat beside me and reaching into the trunk. There are all sorts of clothings in here, most of them are more than ten years old but obviously well made. With nothing more than a few stitches and a good wash, they would be perfect for Prim and I.

Some of the items are a little worn, but we manage to find four good winter dresses. As we make our way through the rest of the boxes we discover old children's dresses and coats. There is even a box of barely worn shoes, most of which fit Prim and I. By the end of the day Prim has found everything she needs, even Peeta finds a hat and a couple of cufflinks. Even if Haymitch didn't let us wear all of them, the two of us would at least be somewhat suitably clothed for Panemshire.

"I think we have what we need," I pull out an odd blue box with handles from the far side of the room, "Here Prim, help me pack things up."

* * *

It's Peeta and I who end up lugging the blue box down several flights of stairs. Even with Peeta carrying most of the weight it's exhausting, how anybody got anything up in that tower attic I don't know.

When we're on the second main floor, we hear the shouts. "Master Peeta," a voice calls through the endless halls, "Master Peeta, you're needed!"

This time the shouts are louder, and as we turn a corner into the family room parlor, we see the source, a young maid not much older than the two of us.

Winded and flustered, the red-headed girl rushes to us, "Master Peeta," she says, "we have guests in the foyer. Somebody needs to see to them."

Peeta looks at the two of us hesitantly, a little uneasy to abandon us for whatever stuffy relatives were waiting downstairs.

The girl stares at him impatiently, "I will bring the girls to their get downstairs, Effie will kill us both if they wait too long." She's oddly comfortable with him, relaxed and knowing in a way that makes me squirm.

Peeta gives me an apologetic look and I shrug, dismissing him as he charges down the main staircase.

The red-headed maid sighs with relief when she sees Peeta on his way, "Now why don't I show the two of you to your rooms. They're right down this hall, you will need to freshen up before dinner so we might as well get along with it."

Right down this hall? This was the family floor, meant for the Lord's living quarters and his most esteemed guests.

It's odd, but I don't say anything about it. I just give my sister a little shrug and follow Lavinia through the hallway. Our rooms are down a wide well-lit row with cozy red oriental rugs and an array of plants and odd desks.

My room, I learn, is the first down the left, and Prim's is the last. "Here you go," Lavinia says, inserting a key into the door, "this one is yours, Miss Primrose has hers down there."

With my light wood door halfway propped open, Prim excitedly abandons me to explore her own room with Lavinia.

I had never expected to have a real room on the family floor. A tucked away room on the servant's floor, maybe, but not this. Though I suppose this wasn't much to Lord Abernathy, he had a whole house that was practically uninhabited.

The room itself is beautiful. Larger than our living room back home, it has red damask wallpaper, a sizeable four poster canopy bed, four lamps, and two whole desks. What on earth anybody did with two desks, I don't know.

There are boxes on the bed, pale green boxes that I discover contain underclothes and four fresh pairs of stockings. But it isn't just that, in the wardrobe alongside my old clothing hang a brand new blue waistcoat dress and a brown pleated skirt. I wonder why on earth we had ever gone up to the attic if Lord Abernathy was to purchase these. With these additions I owned more than I ever had. I owed Abernathy now, really owed him.

Hidden deeply in my thoughts I barely notice the little voice that squeaks from behind me, "Miss Everdeen?"

I jump a little, turning towards the source of the noise,"Hello?" I say, staring at the dark colored serving girl who can't be much older than Prim.

She gives me a soft smile, "I'm Rue, Miss. Sorry for not knocking. You are needed downstairs for a fitting."

"A fitting?" I ask, looking a little skeptical.

"Mr. Cinna," she says, as if it bears no explanation, "he is waiting for you."

* * *

Mr. Cinna, it turns out, is a London designer. One Prim recognizes at least. I have to stop myself from puking when I see her gushing over him, as if unwearable dresses are important when our boys are being killed by the Germans. I keep my mouth shut, though, because my sister's innocence is meant to be preserved as long as possible. Isn't that why we came here in the first place?

"I don't need you to fit my clothes," I tell him once Prim is gone.

He laughs, "Oh, Effie would have my head if you weren't fit for an evening dress and a few good coats."

"Effie?" I say, raising an eyebrow at the name I had heard once before, "Is she Haymitch's wife."

Cinna nearly bursts out in laughter, "Oh goodness, no. She's a distant relative of his, keeps the house in order since his wife passed away."

"His wife, she died?" No wonder he was such a drunk.

He nods, pulling over a green dress I didn't recognize, "Yes, Maysilee passed rather young. They never had children, that's why Peeta is the heir apparent."

"And Peeta," I ask cautiously, "has he been here for long?"

There's something about Cinna that makes me feel comfortable around him. He isn't nearly as pretentious as I would have expected.

"Peeta is a good kid," he says evasively, "don't worry about him. Now come on, let's get you ready for dinner."

* * *

**Author's Note: This is not beta-ed, so forgive any grammar mistakes. How do you like where this story is going? Why do you think Cinna was so dismissive? Are you enjoying this Peeta? Let me know in the comments below!  
**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and submit prompts at everlarkfanfictionprompts!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Hunger Games franchise. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners.**

* * *

"Here," says Cinna, handing me a dress wrapped in thin translucent paper, "you can wear this one tonight, the color will suit you quite well, I do think."

The dress in my hands is a pale yellow thing, gathered in the middle with an embroidery design matched on the shoulders. It's new, that much I can tell. Too fashionable to be anything taken from an attic.

"I really can't accept this," I say as I look at the delicate piece of clothing in my hands, "it is all too much."

Cinna shakes his head, "The dress is borrowed, now don't you worry. Haymitch can hardly have one of his wards not properly dressed for dinner."

"I shouldn't even be at a formal dinner," I hesitate, "can't I just eat with Prim downstairs?"

Cinna pauses, taking a moment to crouch down beside some of the hat boxes on the floor. "Listen, dear," he says as he shuffles through the pile, "you have nothing to worry about. Just put on the dress - and oh, here," he says, pulling out a light green hat box with a pink ribbon tied around it, "find what you need from here. I'm going to go head to my room and change. The maid will be here in a few minutes, best you be ready."

* * *

The light green hat box, upon further inspection, is covered in not scraps of wallpaper, like most hat boxes seem to be, but a thick felt fabric dotted with tiny purple flowers.

I remember my mother having one of these when I was younger. A hat box covered in a similar fabric, though hers was a deep red and not quite as large. The box was one of the things she had brought from her previous life, a sentiment from the time when she had lived generously under her parents' roof.

At one point the box had hosted all sorts of trinkets, little bobs from her childhood. But most of those had been sold in the worst times, the little ruby box along with it.

Inside this box, however, are not my mother's trinkets, but rather two pairs of black heels and an assortment of ribbons in every color.

After slipping the yellow dress on and fitting myself into one of the pairs of heels, I settle on a matching yellow ribbon that I tie into my braid. When I catch my image in the floor length mirror that hangs on a hook from the ceiling I'm not surprised to find that I look nice, prettier than I have in years.

If anything, I won't look out of place at dinner.

* * *

It isn't long before a maid, a dark-haired girl I don't recognize, comes to fetch me. The red-headed girl must have been justified in her frantic search for Peeta, as it seems the three of us spent far too much time in that dusty attic.

When I arrive in the dining room, a pale yellow room adorned with floor to ceiling portraits and three overwhelming windows, there are only two people seated, Peeta and and what must be one of his friends.

"Oh," I take in a little breath as the boys turn towards me, because I recognize the bronze colored, green eyed boy sitting at the end of the table beside Peeta.

"Finnick," Peeta smiles, nodding at me, "this is Katniss, the girl I told you about."

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend among high school girls. After starring in a few American films as a boy, he had caught the eye of every girl in England. His natural charm was nothing to match his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair and those incredible green eyes, it isn't hard to see why he is so popular. Not to mention that he is something of a scandal, with another woman on his arm every day of the week. Old, young, ugly, pretty, it didn't seem to matter to Finnick so much.

I can't argue that Finnick isn't one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But I can honestly say he's never been attractive to me. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe he's too easy to get, or maybe it's really that he'd just be too easy to lose. How Peeta, of all people, had become acquainted with him, I don't know. I never really saw Peeta's mother as the type to all her son to mix with Finnick's social group.

"Well aren't you a lovely little thing," Finnick Odair says, giving me the trademark grin usually reserved for toothpaste advertisements and war posters, "Peeta has been holding out on me. Now come," he says, motioning to the seat beside him, "sit right here."

I take a seat beside Peeta, ignoring the designated place card at the chair. "Where is everybody else?" I ask.

Peeta fiddles with the edge of his napkin, "The others went for a...walk in the gardens."

"Peeta means they went to talk about the war in private," Finnick says, motioning for one of the serving girls to fetch him more wine.

"Why would they have to talk about the war in private?" I ask. "That's all people talk about these days, it seems. I ha

"Oh Katniss, Katniss, Katniss," Finnick tsks annoyingly, "they aren't discussing the "war" in common terms. Plutarch Heavensbee came by to visit, he and Abernathy are chatting about confidential matters with the others. Things nobody wants us to know."

"Plutarch Heavensbee?" I question, turning to Peeta, "he's the head of the Ministry of Information, right?"

"Yeah," Peeta shrugs, giving way for Finnick to interject.

"Old Heavensbee is responsible for all those ration campaigns and annoying slogans that have flooded England over the past few years," Finnick says, leaning into the table, "I worked with him on some war support shorts."

There is something a little odd about knowing that the head of a government function is here, not too far away from me. It wasn't even two days ago that I was sitting in our little hovel in London worrying about when the next bomb would fall. But now here I am sitting next to Finnick Odair in a pretty yellow dress while back in London my mother works a long shift at the hospital and my father lies somewhere unknown, possibly dead.

* * *

It's another thirty minutes of waiting before Lord Abernathy and his guests, an assortment of London elite, including the Ms. Trinket that Cinna and I had discussed earlier, arrive. With them, however, comes dinner - a spectacular arrangement so different than the lumpy dull food Prim and I have been eating at home for the past few months.

The main course is chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey. It's better than anything I have had in years, but I can't help but wonder, as I stare down at the frothy raspberry soup that follows, what Gale would say about this? After all, how is it that the rest of us ate plain potatoes with bread, while people like this dined in finery?

"Katniss," says Cinna, who must notice me staring at my food, "I hope you are enjoying the meal."

"It's delicious," I say, fiddling with the napkin in my lap.

"It is so nice to see young girls like you excelling so from the city," Mr. Heavensbee comments, "I have to say the program is going exceptionally."

"Well," says Effie Trinket, "I do have to imagine the countryside is splendid sight for sore eyes after spending so much time in that awful part of London."

"It is," I reply plainly, ignoring her turnabout insult, "I have never been this far out of the city"

"Poor dear," she says, fluttering her handkerchief about in which must be an attempt at a show of sympathy.

Effie Trinket is not exactly what I expected a woman who Haymitch puts up with to be like. Though I doubt he really puts up with her so much as she just shows up. With her piled high hair and bright frilly, never a pleat out of place, clothing, she contrasts sharply with the Lord's messy, unkempt style of being.

"Well I hope Katniss is enjoying her time here," Peeta smiles at me, graciously changing the conversation, "we'll be starting school soon enough."

"School?" I question, raising my eyebrow. School was the last thing I had been thinking of the past couple days, with all the changes I hadn't even thought of where I would be continuing my education. For me, school had always been a means to an end. Something I did because I was obligated to, because I knew I would have to support Prim one day.

"Yes," Effie says, "I'm afraid the two of you, and that little sister of yours, will have to attend the local school for now. Then, of course, there will be supplements with a tutor and for you, Katniss, we will have private lessons for an hour in the late afternoons."

I try to suppress the groan that rises in my throat at the thought of spending an hour with Effie each day would consist of. What did she intend to instruct me on? The proper way to hold a fork or traipse around in a dress?

"Now, now," says Finnick as dessert, a rich chocolate cake, is passed around the table, "can we please not talk about school. I swear, that is one thing I'm glad to be rid of. Hey Plutarch, you never told me, when is filming for that upcoming…"

* * *

Later that night, when I'm lying in bed, alone for what must be the first time since Prim last got sick, I find that the peace of the night refuses to come to me. Instead of being able to sleep off the long day, I'm stuck staring at the ceiling.

While the canopy bed is comfortable, and I can't I miss the worn holy sheets that I slept on back home, there is something missing here, something about the unfamiliar that makes me restless. After all, I can count the times I have slept away from my bed on one hand, and most of those involved hazy nights in bomb shelters.

I'd crawl into Prim's bed, but she's a light sleeper and I don't wish to wake her. So after hours of tossing and turning I decide to get up and go downstairs, maybe find a glass of water.

But when I step outside into the hallway, past the heavy walls and wooden door, I hear it. Terror screams, nightmares perhaps, coming from one of the other rooms.

At first I see fit to ignore it, but then I remember what it feels like to be trapped in those dreams, to be stuck in a nightmare with no way of coming out. So when I find the source of the noise, I figure I'll just knock, maybe make some noise and run away before they notice me.

But then I open the door and catch sight of those unmistakable blonde curls - Peeta.

* * *

**Author's Note: So, there's Chapter 3. Sorry it took me so long to get it to you guys, I have been in a bit of a writing rut but I have finally emerged! Please let me know what you think in the reviews. Why do you think Peeta has nightmares? How does Katniss know Peeta from before? What did you think of Finnick?**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. This chapter is dedicated to all of my lovely friends at everlarkficquestions!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creations. Don't sue me, blah blah blah blah.**

* * *

"Peeta," I hiss, shaking the boy awake. "You need to wake up, it's just a dream."

His body rolls over, a sleepy gaze covering his now half opened blue eyes. "Katniss?" he questions, looking up at me.

"You had a nightmare?" I look at him, flushing, the explanation for what I am doing in a mostly strange boy's room in the dark of night now seeming unsatisfactory.

He pulls upward in the bed, his hair is messy from sleep, dark circles forming under his eyes. "Oh," he says, voice low. "I apologize for waking you...sometimes I, well, you know."

I look at him, sympathetic towards his plight. "I know what it's like," I frown. "Besides, this estate will all be yours one day. No need to apologize to me." I shake my head, "I-I should go."

He reaches out for my hand, the edges of his fingers catching onto mine. "Please stay for a moment. You remember, don't you?" he asks. "About my father...bringing me over, right?"

I nod wordlessly, because it's hard to forget little blonde boys with crescent shaped bruises and battered ribs.

* * *

My father had been working long shifts in the factories at the time. He hadn't been home, though I suppose that was for the better.

My mother and I were mending socks on the floor of our little apartment when we heard the knocks on the door. I didn't think it odd then, it wasn't uncommon for her to get medical guests at odd hours of the night, people too poor or fearful to go to the hospitals came to her more often than not. But these guest were odd, that's why I had taken note of it. The man at the door, and the boy beside him, his son, were finely dressed. In fact, I had seen the boy around before, he worked with the charity house to deliver bread to the elderly and most desperate of the poor.

My mother looked surprised to see them, but not terribly fearful. Her eyes had widened in shock, little crinkles forming around her eyes as she gaped at the visitors.

"What are you doing here?" She said the man, hand in the doorway. And that's when she noticed the boy, bruised and battered and bleeding from more than one place. "Oh," she paused, "what did she do to him?"

"I can _pay_ , Lydia," he said, addressing my mother by her first name. "I just didn't know where else to go."

My mother shook her head. "It's fine. Prim," she called out to my sister, then barely seven or eight, "grab the antiseptic from the closet."

"You must never tell your father," she said to us, later, after the man and boy had left. "He won't understand."

My mother patched up the boy that night, and then, two weeks later, she did it again. The boy's father brought him in every so often, after my father had left for work, and occasionally I would play cards with the boy as our parents would talk over tea. I learned that the boy's name was Peeta, and he lived in a big house across town. I doubt Prim remembers anything about it, aside from the hard candies the man would bring - bribes to keep her from telling our father - because soon enough it stopped. No more late night visits, no more tea or caramels or bruised arms.

When I got older I realized who he was, why his father had brought him to us. _Peeta Mellark_ was a wealthy boy, the product of domestic disputes. I saw him around some, he played ball in the courtyard with some of his friends and scored liquor off of old drunks. He picked up the habit of staring at me, though we never really spoke, and I wondered how much he remembered of those days spent playing cards on the worn wooden floors of my family's apartment.

And then, one night last winter it happened again. The knocks on the door were desperate, frantic, and I swear my mother nearly keeled over in shock when she saw Mr. Mellark standing there with Peeta, his hands bloodied and his lip bleeding. "You don't want to know," Mr. Mellark had said. "Don't worry, I'll _pay_ for your discretion."

* * *

"It was your mother," I say, and it's not a question. "She was the one who did that to you."

He motions for me to sit on the edge of the bed and I hesitate. It isn't appropriate, after all, not for me to be here and certainly not for me to sit on his bed. What would people think, if they knew I was here?

But I give in nonetheless, leaning against the edge of his mattress. "My mother had her issues."

I snort at that. Issues? Beating your son to a near pulp is more than 'issues'.

"Is that what your nightmares are about?" I ask, feeling suddenly foolish. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that…"

"No," he says, giving me a gentle smile. "It's fine, that's - that's part of it, yes. You?"

"My father mostly," I reply. "These days he seems to be all I can think of."

"I'm sorry," he sighs. "I am sure you love him very much."

"I should go to bed," I say, standing up and fixing the covers. "Sleep well, Peeta."

* * *

After returning to my room, I finally manage to get some sleep it. Not much, though, because I'm still hazy when Lavinia, the red-headed serving girl, wakes me.

"You should get dressed," she says in a sing songy voice. "There is a boy waiting downstairs for you, and might I say he isn't too bad on the eyes."

I laugh at the description, I am used to girls having a fondness for Gale's looks. "Dark hair, tall?"

She nods. "Exactly, he's down in the gallery with your sister. Here," she says, placing a pitcher on the stand next to me, "you better get dressed."

After she leaves I sift through my closet, selecting the brown pleated skirt that was purchased for me and pairing it with one of my own white shirts. I fix my hair into the usual braid and throw on my old boots before closing the door behind me and catching up with Lavinia in the hallway.

"I thought you would have dressed up more with a boy like that waiting for you," she says with a coy smile as we take the staircase.

I shake my head. Gale isn't the type to admire frills, least of all on me, and I certainly don't want him to think of me as a priss. "It isn't like that," I tell her. "Not with him."

"Whatever," she says, laughing as we pause in front of a towering door on the main floor. From her pocket she retrieves a bronze colored key and turns it into the lock. "There you go," she says, ushering me inside. "Tell your sister a meal is being made up for her in the kitchens whenever she pleases to eat."

The Gallery might be grander than any other room in the estate. Its walls, a grey stone, tower above the others, reflecting light from the windows onto the assortment of prized possessions the room contains. In every which direction stone statues - Roman, perhaps - surround me, paintings and eclectic furnishings littering the room. It looks like something out of the British Museum or the palace, yet far more intimate and homely than anything else I have seen.

"Katniss," a voice says, calling out to me. "Gale has come to visit us!"

I laugh, startled, and turn around where I spot Gale and my sister sitting on one of the marble benches facing the front of the house. My sister looks simply splendid in her navy blue dress and patent leather shoes. Too splendid, almost, beside Gale, who wears old slacks and a worn black coat that I know full well was his father's.

"Prim," I say dismissively. "They want you in the kitchen, something about having a meal made up for you."

Her eyes widen in only the way a Seam child's do at the prospect of food. "Oh, sorry. Goodbye, Gale," she says, smile bright as she dashes across the floor, nearly slipping as she closes the door behind her.

I laugh a little, settling towards Gale. "Are you settling in well?" I ask him. There's something awkward about being here with him, though I don't know what exactly.

He nods, "I think so. Fancy my surprise when I discover you and Prim are staying in a Lord's house."

"It was as much of a surprise to me."

"We should do something," Gale says. "Maybe we can go on a walk later? Explore the grounds? I am sure you could get permission to hunt."

"That sounds good," I shrug. "Not sure about the hunting, however."

"Look at all this," he says suddenly, placing a hand on the edge of my skirt. "Look at all of this wealth and think of what life was like back home, what it's like for the rest of the people in this town. A lousy old drunk who hasn't done a single for mankind gets all of this because he was born some way. Rather unfair, don't you think?"

"What's unfair?" The door creaks open, and I don't get the opportunity to reply. It's Peeta, dressed in a sleek three piece grey suit with a blue tie and a hand in his pocket.

"Nothing," I say, looking up at the blonde boy. "Peeta, this is -"

"Gale Hawthorne," the boy beside me interjects, standing straight. "A friend of Katniss."

"Peeta Mellark," the blonde boy replies, extending his hand. "It is always a pleasure to meet a _friend_ of our _dear_ Katniss."

Gale looks Peeta over, taking him in. Rushedly turning to pick up his coat from the bench, he says. "Well, I ought to be heading out, Katniss. I will see you at school, alright?"

"I thought we were going on a walk?" I look at Gale pointedly, crossing my arms over my chest.

Gale shakes his head. "I wasn't thinking of the time. I really should head back, I need to make sure to tend to the livestock and check on Posy. I left her with Rory and you know he is."

"Of course," I say, reaching upward to press my hand to his shoulder. "Go along, I will see you at school if not sooner. It's fine."

He smiles in reply, "Okay, Katniss. Uh, see you then."

With that Gale exits the room, his eyes wandering once more over to Peeta and I before shutting the door behind him.

"So," Peeta says grinning as soon as Gale has left the room. "That's the boyfriend?"

My eyes widen in shock and I shake my head in protest. "Gale is _not_ my boyfriend."

"Whatever you say," he smiles. "You don't have to lie to me, it's hardly as if I am going to ring your mother and inform her that the two of you were alone and unchaperoned in the gallery."

I roll my eyes at him. "We really aren't, and it isn't any of your business either way. So," I ask, "I figure you know these woods better than most. Want to bring me on a walk?"

He cocks an eyebrow and raises his voice mockingly. " _Unchaperoned?_ Why Katniss Everdeen, I never…"

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, there's the next chapter! Let me know what you thought in the comment section below. What is Peeta hiding about his mother? Why didn't Mrs. Everdeen say anything to her husband about Peeta and Mr. Mellark?**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content.**

* * *

We take one of the side doors out of the mansion. "No need to attract any gossip," Peeta says as he shows me out the door. "You know how they talk in the kitchens."

I don't, not really. I have never lived in a big house like this, not with servants or kitchens that took up half a floor. But I don't tell him that, instead I just nod and follow his lead into the gardens.

Leaves seem to crunch under Peeta's feet with every step he takes. He's not a quiet walker, that's for sure. There is no doubt in my mind that every animal in a fifty yard radius knows exactly where he is coming from.

"The grounds range for miles," Peeta says, narrating our journey. "Panemshire Estate includes the village as well, but the woods themselves only stretch through there," he points outwards into the horizon.

"It is nice?" I ask him, though I'm probably prying. "To know that all day this will be yours?"

Despite Lord Abernathy's abandonment, Panemshire is a notable estate with what I imagine to be a very large income. And the woods are beautiful, so different from London. The ground directly surrounding the house is rolling hills of somewhat maintained grass and trimmed trees, but past that, as far as the eye can see, are woods lined with centuries old oaks and an assortment of plants. I prefer these woods to the maintained gardens, prefer the wildness of it, the solitude. I can't imagine what it would be like to know I owned this, that it was mine and I could do as I wished with it.

"I guess," Peeta shrugs. "I've always-" he stops himself, "nevermind."

"What?" I ask, perking up with curiosity.

He puts his hands in his pockets. "You will think me silly, or even ungrateful if I say it."

"I won't," I assure him. "Just tell me."

"Fine," he says, pausing to take a breath. "I always thought of this place as a burden. Quite frankly, there isn't much out here and I always imagined I would stay in London."

"You love the city then," I say, biting my tongue in an attempt to hold my scowl. He was right, I do think him ungrateful.

Peeta nods, "It isn't so much the city as the opportunity it grants. I think I would like to go into politics."

"Politics?" I snort at that. "You're too nice, you don't have the constitution for that kind of work."

He looks almost sad at that, his eyes glancing downward as he speaks. "You would think otherwise if you knew me better."

"Well," I say, changing the subject, "I love it here. Everything about it."

He brightens a little at that. "Then whenever I am Lord I shall invite you to stay with me."

I laugh at the notion of us being friends that far into the future, of our classes mixing to that extent. "Alright, Peeta," I tell him dismissively. "We might as well head back, I'm betting dinner isn't too far off from being served."

"Wait," he says, biting his lip and pacing anxiously in place. One hand still in his pocket, he catches my wrist with the other. "Katniss," he says, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah?" I say, a little anxious at his attitude.

He looks at me. "Nevermind," he says, shaking his head. "You're right, let's head back."

I fold up the cuffs of my shirt absentmindedly and lean back against one of the trees. "What?" I ask. "Just say it, Peeta. _I won't think you silly_ ," I add, parroting his earlier words.

"How would you feel if I kissed you," he spits out, face red. I'm suddenly aware of the distance between us, of the fact that I am alone here in the woods with him.

He shakes his head, his mouth opening in a slight sigh. "It was stupid. Forget about it."

"But I-" I start, urging myself to say something, anything in return. But Peeta's already walking away, the leaves crunching beneath him as he trudges back towards the house.

* * *

We walk the rest of the way in silence, well as silent as it can get with Peeta walking. I enjoy it that way, no talking - just listening to the birds and the breeze. There is something beautiful about the vein of life that trickles through the woods, the hidden things of nature.

We don't really look at each other. I make my way through the woods two paces behind him in order to avoid any awkward conversation. _What was he thinking?_ Asking if he could kiss me. It was an altogether foolish request. I wonder for a moment if I have made myself an easy target. Did he think that I would fall at my knees because my family is poor and he is of great importance?

My thoughts of Peeta's intentions are interrupted by the assertion of my assumption about dinner. The second we walk through the front door the wafting smell of meat and spices, most likely from the dining room, hits my nose like a brick wall.

"Good grief," Lavinia, the serving girl, comes running up as we open the door. Her red hair flutters underneath her white cap, eyes alight as she sees us. "Per the usual, we have all been waiting for you," she says, eyeing our appearances curiously. "Where _have_ you been?"

Peeta flushes at her words, moving a little away from me. "We went for a walk," he says. "I showed Katniss around."

Something about that makes Lavinia laugh. "Yeah," she says, "I'm sure you did. Just like I _showed you around_ when you first arrived."

At that the implication hits me and my head snaps around to face Peeta. "You _and Lavinia_ …" I raise my eyebrows at him. Even after his proposition, I hadn't expected _that_ from Peeta. I had trusted him far too much, allowed myself to accompany him alone to the woods…

 _Stupid, stupid Katniss._ Peeta is like all the other wealthy boys, sneaking off with servant girls to the woods. No wonder he had been so welcoming to me.

"Anyways," Lavinia says, turning on her feet. "You two are due in the dining room. I'm sure _Peeta_ can show the way."

As soon as Lavinia turns away I shoot him a look, something of a scowl. He looks a little sheepish, if not a bit embarrassed. _Well_ , I think, _at least he has some shame._

"Uh-" he starts, as if to explain himself.

I smirk. "So that's how you do it, Peeta Mellark? Sleeping with serving girls. You were right, you do have it in you to be a politician."

"Katniss-" he starts, catching the edge of my shirt as I walk away.

Immediately I snap around, shoving him off of me and slamming my hands into his chest. He loses his balance and crashes into an ugly urn filled with fake flowers. The urn tips and shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces. Peeta lands in the shards, and blood immediately flows from his hands.

"What was that for?" he says, startled.

"Don't touch me," I snarl at him. "Don't you dare."

"What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice. "Did you fall?"

My eyes whip around and I notice that the guests, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Finnick, are crowded outside of the dining room door, staring at us.

"Yeah," Peeta says, a little sarcastically. He looks at me, "I fell. You know me, always clumsy."

Haymitch guffaws a little and Finnick smirks, his eyes lingering on me as he speaks. His look makes me nervous. "Yeah, Peeta. He's pretty _clumsy_ alright. Are you, Katniss?"

"Well," says Effie, her voice laced with concern. "Why don't I get one of the serving girls to bring you downstairs to the kitchen. I am sure Sae can stitch you up."

* * *

Without Peeta at dinner I have nobody to talk to. Well, nobody aside from Finnick, who shamelessly flirts the entire evening. Not that I would talk to Peeta anyways, after today's events.

I wonder why he lied for me. If Effie and Haymitch knew I pushed him, surely they would have sent Prim and I somewhere else. Maybe Peeta wishes to keep me here, make me owe him…

I prefer not being forced to partake in conversation anyways. And it's not like the food isn't good, roast beef with cheddar soup and golden rolls. With meals like this is it hard to imagine there's a war going on at all.

Prim doesn't join us for dinner. She's invited to have the meal with the adults, but ever the nurse, she opts to stay downstairs and help tend to Peeta's wounds. How odd it is, for an Everdeen to be tending to a Mellark's wounds once again.

When I had imagined Peeta Mellark, not that I imagined him often, I had always applied some sort of sainthood to his temperament. I think I assumed him to be a good person because of what happened to him, because of what his mother did to him. But maybe he was more like his mother than anything else. The apple doesn't far fall from the tree, after all. Anybody who looked at Prim and I knew that.

After dinner the men go into the parlor, probably to smoke and talk politics. I, being female, am left with nothing to do so I head upstairs to my room and dawdle for a few hours until somebody knocks on my door.

It's Lavinia.

"Effie would like to see you downstairs in the drawing room," she says stiffly. "You should probably fix your hair. Effie hates it when things are out of place."

My heart quickens. Peeta must have told her about what happened and now she is going to send Prim and I away.

But I just nod and run my fingers through my hair before sliding out of the bed and following Lavinia glumly down the stairs.

The drawing room door is different than the others in the hall, it's newer with colored paneled glass cut into the top and a more fashionable knob that must be from at least the past decade.

I turn the handle slowly, peeking into the room before stepping inside. I gulp and curse internally when I see Peeta already standing before Effie. _Fucking rat,_ I think to myself.

"I'm expected?" I ask, crossing my hands over my skirt as I enter. Peeta looks at me, his eyes not quite meeting mine. His hands are heavily bandaged, little spots of blood peeking through the white cloth. _Good,_ I think, _I hope it hurt._

"Yes, Katniss," Effie says, looking up for her reading glasses. "The two of you will be attending school in the morning."

"Tomorrow?" I raise my eyebrow at that.

"Yes," Effie says. "And I just wanted to remind the two of you that you must be an example for all the other children there. You musn't take offense at their lack of manners," she sniffs, "they simply haven't had the instruction to know any better."

"Of course, Effie," Peeta replies, a little mockingly. I smile a little at him from the corner of my eye, the relief that I am not being throw at of Panemshire lightening the mood.

Effie doesn't seem to catch onto his tone. "Yes, dear Peeta," she says. "You especially must remember your manners. One day these children will be your tenants, under your guidance and supervision. Be a good example." She looks back down at her reading, "And Katniss," she says, "I knew your mother, she's a fine lady. I am sure she taught you right."

My eyes widen. Effie knew _my_ mother? Nothing had ever been mentioned about that before.

"Yes, of course," I say, mimicking Peeta's tone. "You knew her?"

Effie looks up at that. "Yes," she says with the wave of her hand. "We all knew her, that's why you're here. Your mother to wrote to Lord Abernathy, asked him to take the two of you in. Of course we couldn't let her girls end up being corrupted by villagers or God knows who. Heavens, you don't think we were accepting random children into our home?"

I shake my head, beffudled by the revelation. "No," I say, "of course not."

She smiles at me. "Well, why don't the two of you head up to bed. You need your rest before the morning."

I give her a curt nod and move towards the door, turning the handle silently before slipping out of the room with haste in an attempt to beat Peeta. Unfortunately the blonde boy is on my heels, and he catches the door before I close it, shutting it behind him and turning towards me.

"Wait, Katniss," Peeta reaches out for me and then, thinking twice, drops his hand to his side. "Just," he pauses, "just let me explain myself."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! Remember to favorite/kudos/review/etc. How do you think Mrs. Everdeen knows Effie and Haymitch? Through Peeta's father, perhaps?**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety and everlarkfanfictionclub. I just started a fic rec blog called girlonfirerecs so make sure to check that out!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content and creations.**

* * *

_"Wait, Katniss," Peeta reaches out for me and then, thinking twice, drops his hand to his side. "Just," he pauses, "just let me explain myself."_

"There's nothing to explain," I scoff. "I'm not a fool, Peeta."

"Katniss, I'm not—"

"You're a boy, you muck around with serving girls. It's not exactly the most original idea a guy like you has had."

"I was all alone, Katniss," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair, "it wasn't like that, I wasn't trying to ruin her or anything. It's just," he lets out a heavy breath, "I had just got here and I was miserable and well, she was there."

"Don't try that," I say, tightening my jaw, "your charm worked on her, fine. But you tried it on me and it didn't work. Cut your losses, Peeta. I'm not Lavinia, I'm not some girl that's going to find her way into your bed on account of a title. _You can count on that._ "

"Katniss…" he calls out, his voice drifting off as I turn on my heel and bound across the hallway. My feet clatter against the wooden flooring as I practically fly upstairs, desperate to get away from the evidence of my idiocy.

Before he can even attempt to run after me I am already on the second floor and dashing through the maze of rooms.

* * *

I end up sleeping with my sister in her bed. She's already fast asleep when I get there, probably exhausted from the day's events, enticed by the soft pillows and silky sheets. But I curl up beside her like I used to do after a long day's work, tucking my head against her soft blonde hair and pulling the covers over my still clothed body. It's easier to fall asleep this way, easier to avoid thinking of Peeta or the war or my father.

It's not long before I'm dead asleep.

* * *

I splash water from the bathroom's creaky sink on my face as I get ready for my new school the next morning. If I were trying to impress anybody, I'd probably set my hair in rollers but having neither the time, need, or patience I settle on braiding my hair into a single plait and tucking it under my plain black hat.

There's a new outfit laid out for me on the dresser when I wake. Something of Cinna's, I'm sure. Stunningly fashionable and clearly brand new, the sleek red suit is complimented by silk covered buttons and fine black brocade.

The thing seems too fine to wear to school, too valuable, so I end up settling on my old school skirt and a white blouse before heading downstairs to wait for my sister in the foyer.

I must wait for at least twenty minutes before my sister, and Peeta, arrive downstairs. It's easy to see what Prim's excuse for lateness is when she walks through those doors, though I'm not quite sure what Peeta's is. My sister looks lovely in her soft pink floral dress. With tight curls and a belted waist she looks almost like a woman, and a beautiful one at that.

"Oh, Prim," I say, ignoring Peeta's presence, "you look lovely."

"That she does," notes Effie, as she makes an appearance in the foyer, her bright pink, satin covered heels click-clacking against the marble floors as she walks towards us. "Oh, Katniss," the woman remarks with a frown as she grabs an envelope from the top of a mantle, "you aren't wearing your suit."

"I—" I start with an explanation.

"Nevermind," the woman says, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm afraid there simply isn't the time. I swear, young people these days just don't understand punctuality."

Effie places her hand on my back, practically pushing me through the door and out to the waiting car where Mr. Beetee is already starting the engine.

I eye the car dubiously. "I thought the school wasn't so far away?" I ask, sniffing. "Why are we taking the car?"

Effie laughs. "Oh, dear. I can hardly have my nephew trudging through mud on his first day of school, can I?"

"No," I say, rolling my eyes in Peeta's direction. "I guess you can't."

Peeta swallows at my hardened gaze, readjusting the pocket of his tweed suit as he opens the car door for Prim. He looks nice, I'll give him that, but that doesn't mean I don't frown when I end up wedged between him and Prim.

The ride to the school is bumpy, and I end up half pressed against Peeta's body, or worse, flung against his chest, more times than I would like. The walk would have been most definitely preferable, at least that way I would get to walk paces away from the boy.

The brick and stone schoolhouse looks like every other building in this town, old and covered in vines. It's a far cry from the towering building back home, but the kids all look the same, the teenagers in worn dark clothes milling around the front of the schoolhouse can't be much different from the Seam kids I grew up with.

As the automobile pulls up into the front of the school I cringe. Even from the car window I can see what kind of entrance we are making. By the time Mr. Beetee opens the door up every set of eyes is glued on us, expectant and waiting.

I keep my own eyes glued to the ground as I walk out of the car, careful not to look at my new classmates. Peeta doesn't seem to notice the attention, just waves goodbye at Prim and casually strolls towards the front door.

I'm debating following him when a strong hand grabs me by the wrist and, in one swift gesture, drags me over to the brick wall. I'm about to make a move for the cobblers when I realize it's Gale. With a heavy breath I shake my hand free and sigh in relief. Gale's grey eyes, so alike mine, stare back at me, the tiniest hint of a smile pushing the corners of his lips.

"Hey, Catnip," he says, "you made it."

"In style, no less," I say, widening my eyes mockingly. Kicking the dirt under my feet I add, "Pretty boy didn't want to get his shoes dirty."

"What happened?" Gale asks, raising an eyebrow. "Last time we saw each other you had nothing but praise for that Mellark kid."

"Nothing," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

Gale places a hand on cheek, forcing me to look at him. "He didn't…?"

"No," I tell him, shaking off the implication, "but he's screwing the serving girl. I-I thought he was better than that."

Gale only nods. "How cliche," he says. "But it's to be expected. That Mellark kid? He's never known what it's like to go without bread or live in fear. Hell, even when it comes to war it's like that. Men like our fathers are out there dying on the front lines while boys like Peeta are playing officer and drinking tea from fine china."

 _He's never known what it's like to live in fear._ I nod in agreement, but somewhere in the back of my head I think of all the bruises and marks that Peeta was covered in when his father brought him over.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!" At the deafening sound of the school bell ringing, Gale sighs. "Better head on in," he says with a shrug, "I'll show you to your room."

* * *

Gale leads me through the horde of students and into the main building with ease. The interior is a little cramped, and the old wooden flooring and small narrow hallways do nothing to stop the clash of bodies as everybody scrambles to make it inside. I wouldn't be surprised if the school was exceeding capacity with the new arrivals from London.

Gale drops me off at a door with a nod before heading to his own homeroom. Stepping inside the room I take in my surroundings. It's a little cramped, like everything else here, but it's a lot cleaner than the school I attended back in the city. Without black soot covering the ceiling and the musty smell of the factories the classroom seems actually pleasant. It's a little old fashioned, with those brought iron back desks we hadn't sat in since the lower grades, and an aging black furnace in the center of the room, but homey nonetheless.

"Ah, Ms. Everdeen," says the teacher, a Mrs. Paylor according to the name written across the blackboard. "Sit right there behind Peeta."

I groan inwardly, scowling as I make my way through the aisle and plop down behind the tweed dressed mop of blonde curls.

* * *

I end up sitting near Peeta in all of my classes. It's only science, where I'm paired up with the girl from the train station, Johanna, that I actually manage to get away from him. My teachers, it seems, have marked me with guilt by association. My connection with the Lord has made them assume I am somebody of importance, and that means I get to sit by the boy they assume to be a friend of mine.

Lunch is held outside in the front courtyard. Back home I usually end up sitting alone on account of Gale having a different lunch period. When I was younger another girl, Madge, used to join me, but there was never much talking then anyways.

In Panemshire, however, everybody eats at the same time. I'm all set to start on the contents of my brown bag when I spot Gale sitting at one of the wooden tables with his younger siblings and much to my surprise, Prim as well.

I sit down beside Gale on the edge of the bench seat, my body pressing into his as I place my things on the table. And that's when I notice what the Hawthornes are eating for lunch. The food is meager at best, less than what Gale could have provided back home. A slice of bread and cheese? Hardly enough for a growing boy like Rory.

Wordlessly, I pull out the contents of my own bag, two now cold rolls and a tin filled with meat pies, and start dividing up the portions.

"Katniss—" Gale says, his eyes narrowing at what I'm sure he sees as an act of charity.

I shake my head, distributing the contents of my bag to the kids with a soft smile. "You'd do the same thing."

He only mutters gruffly at that, refusing the portion I hand to him, but unable to do the same for his siblings.

* * *

It's after the kids have left for recess and the food is finished that a fight breaks out in the yard. At first, I barely register the scuffle—I'm not a stranger to a fight, the boys back home were always getting into messes.

Then a stocky boy in a brown shirt and blue pants misses a punch and slams into the edge of our table.

"Hey, watch where you're going," I bite out.

The boy snaps around, his shoulders narrowing in on me. Then, with a laugh and a nod back to a couple of his friends he says, "What, you think you can talk to me that way just because you're Little Lord Mellark's slut?"

He's not even done speaking before Gale stands up. "What did you just say to her, Cato?"

The boys face off, each staring at the other with that fire only adolescent boys contain. Cato shrugs nonchalantly, "What, is she screwing you too?"

Gale's fist slams into Cato's face before I have the chance to stop him. The surrounding crowd of onlookers, and even the boys that were fighting before, halt, taking in the new entertainment with a roaring ferocity. Cato's friends, an odd assortment of boys much smaller than him, start to cheer him on from the background.

"Gale!" I cry, pushing my way through the forming crowd. Gale can't get in trouble, not now. If the school reports him to his foster family, if he gets sent away from his siblings, _I know it won't be long before he joins his father on a list of missing persons._

So out of instinct I run towards them, my body flying between them in an attempt to stop the fighting. Unfortunately, neither boy notices me, and it's not long before I feel a fist pressing into my collar and sending me backwards.

My body slams down against the ground, my leg twisting under the other as I brace myself. A mild nausea passes over me, and I faintly register an odd swimming sensation. I must lie there only for a minute or two, but it feels like hours that I spend huddled over in pain.

"Katniss?" a familiar voice says with a mark of concern. Running over towards me, Peeta stoops down beside me, extending a hand to a help me up. "What happened?" he asks as I reach to cover my forehead with my hand. I can already feel the warm blood dripping down my face.

"You!" Gale says, pointing at him with instruction and a knowing look. "Take her home, I assume you are capable of doing that at least? I'd do it myself, but…" he trails off, looking pointedly at a half-sheepish Cato.

"No," Peeta says, his brow furrowing. "I can bring her back." Reaching to support me with his I shoot him a dirty look, but accept the help anyways. I'm limping already, must have sprained something on the way down.

I lean my head against his shoulder out of sheer lack of options, my nose resting in the crook of his neck as he leads me towards the surrounding woods.

"You want me to carry you?" he asks, eyeing me skeptically as we make our way onto a dusten pathway.

With what little strength I have I shake my head. "No," I insist, ignoring my biting headache, "I'm fine."

"Alright," he says, shrugging. "You sure you don't want to rest or…"

"No," I say, this time more annoyed than last, "I told you I'm fine."

He only nods, allowing me to cling to him as we continue along the pathway. "So," he says, asking the inevitable question, "What did Cato do?"

"He accused me," I turn red at the thought and look away. "Of us, rather, being...lovers. He called me a slut."

Peeta's fists tighten at my words. "I swear to God, I'm going to…"

"You can calm down," I say, placing my hand on his arm. "Gale beat the living daylights out of him. Now everybody probably thinks he and I are together, though I'm not sure if that's all the much better."

Peeta laughs at that. "You know," he draws in a breath, "about earlier...I really didn't—"

I cut him off, opening my mouth to speak. But then, before I can say anything, I croak, my eyes flashing white before I collapse against the ground.

I just barely register Peeta's voice screaming my name before everything goes black.

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**Author's Note: Let me know what you thought in the comment section below! I'm hoping to have the next chapter out in about a week, week and a half.**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. Make sure to check out my[weheartit](http://weheartit.com/dandelionsandroses/collections/102696431-coal-black-water-blue) for this story!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my original content. All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. Head's up, this is not betaed just fyi. Please enjoy and if you have any questions, feel free to hit me up on tumblr!**

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I awake to the sound of voices. "I told you, Haymitch," booms a high pitched squeal, so distinctly Effie, "Katniss had no business in that place."

Haymitch scoffs, neither of them noticing as I begin to open my eyes. "You do know where the girl grew up, right? How she managed to get herself in trouble on her first day, I have no idea…"

"That's exactly my point, _Lord_ Abernathy," Effie bites back. "I know exactly where the girl grew up, but _you know who her sister is_ , you know we have a duty to ensure, for the child's sake, that she becomes more than that...place."

"What about my sister?" I croak, rubbing my eyes and making an attempt to sit up.

Immediately, the pair of them snap towards me. Haymitch lets out something akin to a huff as Effie sighs. "Oh dear," she says, dismissing my question, "never mind that. You're awake! Haymitch," she says, slapping him lightly on the forearm, "go and get somebody to fetch Peeta. The boy will want to know that she's up."

"Where's Prim?" I ask as Haymitch slams the door behind him. It's not like my sister to leave my side, especially in a situation like this.

Effie purses her lips. "Your sister fell asleep in the chair right there," she says, pointing to an ugly floral thing with black brocade. "Peeta carried her up to bed. I swear, it was the sweetest thing."

I frown at that. "How long was I out for?"

"Oh sweetheart," she says, clutching her hand to her chest, "it's been two days."

"Two days?" I widen at that. "It-it couldn't have been?" My brain still feels a little fuzzy, perhaps from the apparent excess of sleep I have received, but still, it doesn't seem right. I remember the fight, remember Gale and Cato going at it, but I don't remember how I ended up here. I suppose I must have passed out some time before I got to the bed. "Wait?" I ask her. "It was the woods, I was walking with Peeta and then-"

"-And then the dear boy carried you all the way back here. I swear, you gave us such a fright. When Peeta dragged you through that front door I thought you were a goner. No worry, though, the doctor says it is most likely nothing more than a mild concussion."

"A mild concussion?" I guess that explains the fuzziness.

"Yes," she pouts a little, "a mild concussion that kept your poor sister up worried and completely ruined my plans for a dinner party."

I grimace a little at that. "Does Gale, my friend Gale, does he know?"

Effie purses her lips. "He's been...informed."

I frown, knowing Gale he's most likely putting his fists into Cato's face once more for good measure. "Did he come to see me?"

She sighs. "Katniss, you must understand that we can't allow you to see this...this _Gale Hawthorne_. It's simply inappropriate. Aside from the obvious lack of decorum on his part, there's your reputation to think about as well. I can hardly have my sixteen year old ward spending so much time with an unrelated male. It's unseemly."

"Nobody minds when I spend time with Peeta," I say, pointedly.

At that, the door creaks open, and the very golden boy himself emerges, a little grin on his face as he asks, "What about me?"

Effie rubs the back of her neck, ignoring him. "Well, Peeta's had a different upbringing than your...Gale. I'm only looking out for you, Katniss. You're an impressionably young lady, and a pretty one at that. I know I don't have to worry about Peeta _getting you into trouble_. If anything, it's the other way around. This older boy is already getting into fights over you. It's different now, Katniss. You're not living with your mother anymore. _You have to think about your future._ "

I scoff at her, anger boiling inside of me as I try to make sense of her statement. Is she trying to tell me that Gale of all people is a bad influence? Sure, Gale wasn't perfect, at least not from the perspective of a woman like Effie, but he had always been there for me. "Gale was only defending my honor," I protest, crossing my arms, "something you seem so keen on protecting."

It's then that Peeta butts into the conversation, a sheepish look on his face as he finally tears his eyes away from me. "Effie," he says, giving her that patented Peeta Mellark look, "I really don't think Gale was trying to cause any trouble. Perhaps you should give the boy another chance. We could have him over for lunch?"

Effie purses her lips. "Peeta," she sighs, "I really don't think that's such a-"

Peeta cuts in before she has a chance to respond, his eyes lighting up as he pulls her into a hug. "Oh, Effie, you're brilliant!" Pausing to take a breath, he explains just as excitedly. "Of course a dinner party would be far too formal. Instead of something so stuffy, we can invite Gale to a picnic! I think all of us would feel far more comfortable, don't you?"

"Well," Effie starts, running her hands through her fingers, "I suppose that is not such a bad idea…"

Peeta grins, his perfectly white teeth peeking through his lips as he reaches over to kiss the older woman on the cheek. "I swear," he says, practically bursting into an open mouthed smile, "I have no idea what we'd do without you, Effie."

* * *

It's after Effie's dragged Peeta downstairs and I'm left alone with a very attentive Prim that it finally hits me. Maybe I'm groggy and that's why it wasn't immediately obvious. _Peeta had gotten Effie_ , taken the prim woman by storm and wrangled her into inviting Gale Hawthorne to a picnic. A picnic, for god's sake!

I wonder if he felt guilty, if that's why he'd done it. I can't particularly think of any reason why Peeta of all people would want Effie to pardon Gale. It wasn't like the Mellark boy was a particular fan of my companion. Perhaps Peeta thought the act of kindness would give him enough credence to make another attempt at my bed. That must be it, he thought me easy. So easy, in fact, that such a bitter gesture would make me fall willing into his hands.

The concept of his supposed scheming simmers inside of me as I play a half-assed game of cards with Prim. Apparently I'm not to be left alone, and my sister has made a habit of staying at my side, ignoring the maids who have stopped by and offered to take over. It's only when a familiar face raps on the door, the same face that makes me want to hurl into the wastepaper basket, that she finally turns me over.

"Hey Katniss," says Peeta jovially as he closes the door behind Prim. I tighten my glance in his direction, not bothering to guess what's in the brown bags he's placing at the end of the bed.

"I know what you're doing," I say as soon as I'm certain my sister is a fair distance away. I cross my arms in his direction. "I'm not going to fall for it this time."

His brow furrows in confusion, but by now I know better than to trust any emotion displayed on Peeta's face. "I'm sorry?" he asks. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

I let out a hearty scoff. "Oh yeah," I raise an eyebrow. "That thing with Effie? I'm sure you did that one for Gale's benefit."

"I was just trying to help," he starts, "I know Gale meant no harm, and I just...I didn't want to see you unhappy."

"Well," I roll my eyes at him, "you shouldn't have, really."

Peeta sighs, extending a small brown bag towards me. "Here," he says as he slumps down into the chair across from me, "I made it for you."

My curiosity must exceed my anger, because with clenched teeth I reach inside the bag, carefully retrieving the contents and taking a moment to stare at it.

"How…?" I stutter, not bothering to tear my eyes away from the little trinket in my hands. It's a locket, but not just any locket, a gold one, smooth and delicate but chipped exactly where I know it will be. I run my fingers across a tooth mark my sister made when she was two and sigh. How on earth did Peeta Mellark get his hands on _this_?

My mother had received the locket not long after my sister was born. It was a present from some aunt of hers, she said, a rich relative from her former life who was hoping to make amends. I suppose that's why the locket only had a picture of my mother in it. Where my father's photo ought to have gone there was only smooth bare gold. I'm not sure why my father never had a picture taken for the other side. I suppose we never had the money for things like that. After all, it was for that same reason my mother had gotten rid of the thing. One day, just like that, it was gone. I must have been twelve or so when my mother came home one day and told us she had sold the piece to make rent.

"My father gave it to her," Peeta leans forward in his chair, finally giving me an explanation. "My father gave it to your mother, that is. And then she gave it back to him...when your father found out."

I frown at that, at my mother's deception. I don't remember my parents ever fighting about the locket, but I suppose it's been a long time, and every day I spend here it seems like Peeta knows more about my mother than I do. "And you're giving it to me?" I ask, biting my lip. I know the locket is worth some bit of money, perhaps more than the clothes Lord Abernathy has given me, but I can't find it in me to protest the item's return.

"It felt right," he says. "My father gave it to your mother, and now I'm giving it to you."

"Well," I purse my lips, "thank you, Peeta. That was very...thoughtful of you."

He gives me the softest smile, the corners of his lips lifting up in a way that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't want us to fight, Katniss," he lets out, barely audible from my side of the room. "I never meant to affront you, I just, I just...can we start over?"

I don't know why I agree to it, exactly, but it comes out anyways. "Okay, Peeta. Let's start over."

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**Author's Note: Hey there, sorry for the late update, life's been crazy. So...any ideas about what's going up in Panemshire? I would love to hear your theories and thoughts on this one!:)**

**As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety. I'm going to pimp out my weheartit board for this fic, a link for which can be found on my fanfiction profile.**


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